Steve Martin Tweets, Vol. 2
The latest series of Tweets from Steve Martin:
If you are driving, do not read these Tweets. Dangerous. Please throw your phone out the window.
If you are not driving, go to nearby window, and throw phone onto your car roof. This would be just for fun.
Here is a recap of my life during last dozen Tweet days. “Look at this tangle of thorns.”
Two weeks ago I decide to open Twitter account to earn extra bucks.
Quickly learn Twitter does not pay, although founder of Twitter has 24/7 massage on billion dollar yacht.
To explain hours I spend Tweeting in front of computer, I tell my trusting, charming, educated, wife that I am writing a screenplay.
In effort to bolster Tweeting commitments, I enjoin a hundred monkeys to compose Tweets for me in garage.
Monkey Tweets become uncontrollable irritation. Also have to divert wife from garage where hidden monkeys are fornicating and spamming.
Actual photo of garage during earlier, happier monkey days: http://tiny.cc/s303n
In order to bolster lies to wife, I enlist courageous Tweetsters, if they see me on the street, to say, “How’s the screenplay going, Steve.”
They are also encouraged to give me “thumbs up” which they seem to confuse with middle finger or butt flash.
Hit elderly woman with my car while Tweeting. She lands in shopping cart and rolls through supermarket door into stack of Charmin.
Feeling career insecurity, I force a crying kid to take my autograph.
He turns out to be nephew of woman covered in Charmin, resulting in career damaging lawsuit.
In attempt to revive suddenly collapsing career, get Botox from questionable doctor who advertises on bus bench.
Botox makes my face as immobile as doctor’s photo on bus bench. CSI calls with offer to play dead body.
Botox turns into botulism pustules, causing me to put paper sack over my head around the house (with cut-out eye holes).
When trusting wife asks about paper sack with eye-holes, I tell her I am researching a part for my new screenplay.
Gulp: TRUSTING WIFE ASKS TO READ SCREENPLAY.
I tell wife I need printer paper. Am now driving car in Beverl. Hill. Californi. (I abbreviated Beverly Hills, California to save space).
Have just been pulled over by cop. He wants to know why there are monkey paw prints on car. Asks me to remove paper sack.
Because of frozen Botox face, my expression does not match my driver’s license photo and I am arrested.
Handcuffs force me to Tweet with nose. Kindly cop holds phone to face. K-9 corps dog smells monkeys, attacks.
Am held in non-celebrity section of jail. The cappuccino is cold. No one recognizes me. Other inmates think my impression of myself is bad.
I’m in dire straits. Need help. Suggestions taken.
Martin is redefining Twitter. You can follow him on Twitter here.